


"Ain’t nobody said we had to talk."

by mhunter10



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-11
Updated: 2013-09-11
Packaged: 2017-12-26 07:21:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/963170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mhunter10/pseuds/mhunter10
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after Lip tries to talk to Ian at the Kash & Grab in season 2, and has a tantrum.</p><p>Mickey gets Ian's mind off things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Ain’t nobody said we had to talk."

"What the fuck happened in here?"

Ian slammed down the empty beer bottle and heaved himself up from his stool. He briskly shoved past Mickey and to the back where they kept the mop.

Mickey followed after him, watching intently. “What’s with the face, Gallagher? They cancel training today or what?” He teased lightly. Ian glared at him a second and sighed.

Ian dragged the mop and bucket over to the mess and began clearing away the watermelon juice.

"You’re gonna need a broom and pan for those pieces, you know…"

Suddenly Ian was angrily swiping the dirty water across the floor and getting redder by the second. He was gripping the mop handle tight, as he dunked it repeatedly in the bucket of water, like he was trying to drown it. His teeth were clinched, and Mickey swore he heard the wooden handle splinter a bit.

"Hey, whoa! What the fuck, Ian?" Mickey reached out and put his hand over Ians’ on the mop, willing him to stop. He’d never seen him so angry. Ian ceased his movements and looked down at the other boy’s hand on his, feeling the heat passing between them. He looked up at Mickey.

"Um…" Mickey moved his hand further down the mop, off of Ian’s hands, and slid it from his grasp, "gasoline and a match would work better…" he set the mop aside slowly, not taking his eyes away from the redhead.

Ian’s breathing slowed and his shoulders dropped in exhausted defeat. He leaned back against the curved glass of the deli, not caring about the breads being smashed by his legs. He put both hands to his face and took some deep breaths.

An old hobo jingled into the shop carrying a bag of empty plastic bottles, but Mickey told him to scram real quick. He locked the door behind him and turned back to where Ian was staring down at the floor.

Mickey stepped over the tomato mess and stood in front of him. He chewed his lip and looked away for a minute, unsure how to go about broaching the subject without getting the same treatment as the mop. “Is this about Lip and that officer?” He saw Ian sneer at his brother’s name, but he only tensed for a second, falling back into a sort of tired look. Mickey knew about the application and what happened because Ian had been gripping about it all week, but he couldn’t let him know he was listening; hearing him talk about always being second with everything. He didn’t know if he felt bad, or wanted to give Lip a reasonable discount on uppers for screwing things up for Ian. Then he really felt bad…and weird. Why did he care one way or the other?

"Did he do this? Because I’m not cleaning this up, I said I didn’t want—"

"I don’t want to talk about him." Ian gritted out, crossing his arms. Mickey was surprised he didn’t fully commit to that pout.

"Alright…" Mickey ducked his head and tried to find the exact spot Ian was focused on. He looked towards the door then back at Ian. "What…do you want to do, then?" He asked quietly, trying to hide the arousal in his voice from seeing so much raw aggression.

Ian finally met his eyes and shrugged halfheartedly. He eyed the watery redness on the floor, then turned back to Mickey. “I don’t know…just don’t want to talk about that fucking asshole anymore.”

Mickey nodded to himself. He started to back away, slipping his hand into his pocket and obviously grabbing himself. “Ain’t nobody said we had to talk,” he stopped by the freezer door and shifted his gaze from Ian’s face, to his body; admiring the effects of his renewed vigor in exercising to prove something or whatever. His hand didn’t stop moving inside his pocket. “Although, it’s gonna be kind of hard to.”

Mickey hadn’t even fully raised his eyebrow in absolute lust, before Ian was pulling him into the freezer and dropping to his knees.


End file.
